Ripple Effect
by andyjay18
Summary: Space-time is like Jenga; you pull one block out, and the rest come crashing down...
1. Chapter 1

_Sunday, October 27, 1985_

_10:04 AM Pacific Standard Time_

_Hill Valley, California_

He tried to cover up his joy with typical teenage apathy, but 11-year-old Tomokazu Kamijou was overjoyed. Even though a lot of kids at his school were rather wealthy (Mitakihara Academy had produced three Diet members and countless CEO's, as their staff kept reminding people), he didn't know many who had been to America yet. Of course, having relatives there could offer that advantage. His serious, business-oriented family had already been at his back quite often, pressuring him to put his nose to the grindstone now that he was in middle school (and not just _any_ middle school) if he wanted to make his folks proud and eventually get into Todai or Waseda and eventually take a position on the board of directors of some lucrative company like his father and his grandfather and so on. But for now, he wanted to see the world. Starting with Universal Studios, where he and his family were headed this morning. They would hit all the main tourist attractions of Los Angeles, of course, including Disneyland, the Walk of Fame and the _Queen Mary_, but Universal was what he was truly interested in. There was a Disneyland in Tokyo, but nothing like a real working movie studio you could actually tour.

Plus there was also the thrill of being in the storied land of California, even if it was just the unassuming Sacramento suburb of Hill Valley; at the other end of the state from all the storied attractions of Southern California, and even more than hour by car from the sights of San Francisco and the Bay Area.

"Hey c'mon Nii-san, let's get packed!" he shouted out to his cousin Ito Fujitsu, still bent over _The Wall Street Journal _at the breakfast table.

"Soon, already," the 12-year-old wannabe businessman replied. "Just let me finish this page. Hmm, Lincoln Savings and Loan is doing pretty well, same with Lehman Brothers…"

"Aw c'mon, man," Tomokazu groaned. "Oji-san says it's about an eight-hour drive, and it can be even worse with L.A. traffic! Besides, can't you finish that in the car?"

"You know I get carsick easily," Ito said. "And like my dad says, it wouldn't hurt for you to pick up a copy once in a while. It might help you with your English."

Tomokazu almost replied that he probably wouldn't be able to understand _The Wall Street Journal_ at only his middle-school level of English (Ito actually _lived_ in America full-time, after all), but he doubted his stick-in-the-mud cousin would listen. He knew that the _real_ reason his parents had sent him to spend a school year with his overseas transplant relatives (his uncle's software company had recently opened a new plant in nearby Rancho Cordova) was so that his smarty-pants cousin would "rub off" on him. Well, he certainly would give it his all for his eventual high school and college entrance exams, but he wouldn't let that cut off any opportunities for seeing more of the world; the ruins of Rome, the Great Wall of China, the Amazon… And he was only 11. He had his whole life ahead of him.

So he just rolled his eyes at Ito. "Whatever. I get the front seat then. I'll see you in the car."

"You know that's statistically the most dangerous seat in a car crash, after the driver's seat," Ito replied.

"Oh please. Again with the numbers. Can't you ever get out of school mode?" He sighed and headed up the stairs to fetch his bag. After coming down, he called out, "Hey Oba-san, which car are we taking again?"

"The Rolls-Royce," his aunt replied.

"Hey McFly, that's a nice set of wheels you got there," sneered Needles over Huey Lewis blaring on his truck radio. "You wanna see what she can do?"

"No thanks," said Marty, staring at the red traffic light ahead of them, trying to keep Needles and his bright red truck out of even the corner of his eye. He could still make out the new car smell in the cab of his glossy black Toyota 4x4. At least for its first month, no way in hell would he let so much as a scratch on it. But even so, _that _impulse was building up in the back of his head, hot and itchy. Somehow he thought Needles' next words were basically a foregone conclusion.

"Aw, c'mon, mannn," Needles said. "You don't want everyone to think you're…_chicken_, do ya?" His three-man "posse" chortled at his side.

The dreaded word slapped Marty in the face. He turned toward Needles to glare directly into his eyes. "Nobody calls me 'chicken', Needles. Nobody."

Needles' gang whooped and cheered. "All right then! Let's do it! Next green light."

Jennifer, sitting next to Marty, shot bolt upright in her seat. The memories of that strangely vivid dream were crashing back to her now; about being _married_ to Marty in the future, Marty getting fired, and…something about an accident…

It had been a dream, right? Her returning memories of it didn't have that…muffled quality that dream memories usually seemed to have.

She felt something in her pocket. It felt like a large sheet of paper.

"M-Marty, are you sure this is a good idea?" she said, reaching for that paper.

"Relax, Jen," Marty said, shifting the truck into high gear. "I know what I'm doing." Indeed he did. He had, after all, lived two weeks inside of two days, or at least two days in his own time. Already he had of course noticed the effects of changing the past on his parents, his siblings…and himself. Two days ago he had been too nervous to submit his audition tape; now it would be the first thing he'd do on Monday. He wasn't going to fear anything anymore after facing murder at the hands of three separate generations of the Tannen family. He'd be damned if he'd let some snarky little piss-ant like Doug Needles call _him _a chicken. Needles would have to get nearly arrowed by Indians, eaten by a bear, dragged by a horse, and then almost hung first, all on _the same day_; then maybe they'd talk.

The growl of two revving engines pulsed through the intersection, into the swanky new Hilldale housing development. Some residents peered out their windows and doorways out of annoyance and/or curiosity.

Jennifer pulled the paper out of her pocket. It seemed to be a fax. At the top was a logo and business address. "Cusco". Wasn't that that new Japanese software firm that had just opened an American plant over in Rancho Cordova? Did they have a booth at the school career fair? Either way, it didn't seem like a career she'd be interested in, so she had no idea why this fax would be in her pocket. But now, here was a strange thing: for some reason the date just below the logo read October 21, 2015.

And the only text of the fax was two words in giant-sized, bold letters: "YOU'RE FIRED!"

Jennifer's swimming head was still trying to process what she was beholding, when she was blasted back into her seat as Marty hit the truck's gas. But suddenly time strangely seemed to slow down to a crawl when a cream-colored Rolls-Royce emerged from the first street on the right, after the traffic light. Marty's scream even seemed to come out as a muted trombone sound as he planted his foot on the brakes, all too late.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

"You said everything was going to be fine, you little jerk!" shouted 15-year-old Marleen McFly, throwing a teddy bear toward the white catlike creature in her room. "How the hell could you let this happen?"

"Let this happen?" said the white creature in response. "I did nothing of the sort. You wished for your father to get a promotion, and I granted it as you asked. What happened was merely the result of your father's poor choices."

"B-but…Needles…he pushed him into that payroll scam…" she sobbed. "That…asshole always brings out the worst in my dad; I've _told_ you that, I told you that when you first got me to contract with you. Are you telling me I've slain…I don't know how many Witches for _this_ to happen?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no," Kyubey answered. "Just as I didn't hold a gun to your head and _demand_ that you make a contract with me…"

"They were laying off just about everyone on the production floor!" Marleen snapped. "Maybe _you_ didn't demand it, but…"

"Please don't interrupt. As I was saying, just as I didn't demand that you make a contract, Mr. Needles didn't hold a gun to your father's head and demand that he join in with the scheme. You humans really should try to work on your decisions the first time around, because you don't get second chances, do you?" Was there a slight hint of sarcasm in Kyubey's voice? "If he'd have remembered who was in charge of the management division, he might not have acted so rashly last night and gotten himself fired, and your mother might not be threatening divorce. Your father has told you about his…accident, hasn't he?"

Marleen growled and threw another stuffed animal toward Kyubey, who simply bounced up from her dresser to the top of her blinds in a feat that seemed like even a cat would have trouble pulling off. "More than enough times," she sobbed. "Yeah…someone…died…but _he didn't mean to do it!_ He didn't contest anything, he did his five years on probation, he paid the civil suit...but dammit, he was so depressed, and his hand was broken; he gave up on his dreams of being a musician…"

"Did he ever tell you that the boy who died in his accident was the cousin of his boss?" Kyubey asked, its flat bead eyes peering directly into Marleen's soul.

All of a sudden her room seemed to widen into a gaping gulf. Marleen's pupils shrank and the redness drained from her face. "N-no…"

"Quite an unfortunate coincidence, but the laws of averages permit quite a bit of leeway for coincidences," Kyubey replied. "The Fujitsu family, or at least the previous generation, were devout Christians and thought that hiring the…_accidental_ murderer of one of their own would be something that 'Jesus would do'. However, their son Ito was not quite so forgiving. Perhaps one might say he leaned more toward the Old Testament side of things, at least inside. He never quite trusted your father, even after his promotion to management, and was easily swayed by Mr. Needles. And so when he pressured your father to scan his credit card…"

"STOOOOP!" Marleen howled. "I've heard eno-hu-hu-hough…" She started crying into her hands.

"And all because your father could never…'tune out' Mr. Needles calling him a 'chicken'," Kyubey taunted. "I must be going now, but I believe I…and some other contractees, shall be calling upon you soon. But however unfortunate you feel now, please know that you will be serving a…very grand purpose. Good night and good luck, _Puella_." And with that, Kyubey vanished.

Marleen stared at her Soul Gem. Even through the tears blearing her vision, she could see its former bold auburn color had almost turned completely black.

"This is heavy…" she groaned, clutching it.

_According to some fans, Hill Valley is said to be near Sacramento, which is about an eight-hour drive from LA._

_The 2015 sequence takes place in the brief window of time after "Biffworld" was vanquished but before Marty's lesson in _BTTF_ 3. And if any _PMMM _fans are wondering why Magical Girls (and Witches) still exist by 2015, stay tuned._


	2. Chapter 2

"_The best-laid plans of mice and men_

_Often go awry…"_

-Robert Burns

Sunday, October 27, 1985

10:29 AM, Pacific Standard Time

Hill Valley, California, USA

"Hey McFly, that's a nice set of wheels you got there," sneered Needles over Huey Lewis blaring on his truck radio. "You wanna see what she can do?"

"No thanks," said Marty, staring at the red traffic light ahead of them, trying to keep Needles and his bright red truck out of even the corner of his eye. He could still make out the new car smell in the cab of his glossy black Toyota 4x4. At least for its first month, no way in hell would he let so much as a scratch on it. But even so, _that_ impulse was building up in the back of his head, hot and itchy. Somehow he thought Needles' next words were basically a foregone conclusion.

"Aw, c'mon, mannn," Needles said. "You don't want everyone to think you're…chicken, do ya?" His three-man "posse" chortled at his side.

The dreaded word slapped Marty in the face. He turned toward Needles to glare directly into his eyes. "Nobody calls me 'chicken', Needles. Nobody."

Needles' gang whooped and cheered. "All right then! Let's do it! Next green light."

Jennifer, sitting next to Marty, shot bolt upright in her seat. The memories of that strangely vivid dream were crashing back to her now; about being married to Marty in the future, Marty getting fired, and…something about an accident…

It had been a dream, right? Her returning memories of it didn't have that…muffled quality that dream memories usually seemed to have.

She felt something in her pocket. It felt like a large sheet of paper.

"M-Marty, are you sure this is a good idea?" she said, reaching for that paper.

"Relax, Jen," Marty said, shifting the truck into high gear. "I know what I'm doing." Indeed he did. He had, after all, lived two weeks inside of two days, or at least two days in his own time. Already he had of course noticed the effects of changing the past on his parents, his siblings…and himself. Two days ago he had been too nervous to submit his audition tape; now it would be the first thing he'd do on Monday. He wasn't going to fear anything anymore…

_Marty,_ Doc Brown's voice spoke to him. _You can't go around losing your temper every time someone calls you a coward! That's exactly what causes you to get into that accident in the future!_

_That accident…_

Marty stared at the red traffic light above his truck, hearing Needles and company gibbering like apes next to him.

What the hell was he doing? Was he seriously about to get into a _drag race_ with freaking Needles? While his truck was still so shiny and beautiful? And whether what Doc had told him had any grain of truth, living two weeks inside of two days had taught him a thing or two about causes and effects.

Needles was already revving up his truck. Some people in the adjacent Hilldale development were looking down the street, out of both annoyance and curiosity. But Marty knew what he was going to do. He checked his rearview. No one coming.

The light turned green. Needles hit the deck and shot forward through the intersection. Marty meanwhile shifted into reverse and rocketed backwards, swerving into the median.

"Marty, what were you _doing_?" gasped Jennifer.

"C'mon; you think I'm stupid enough to race that asshole?" Marty answered. "Hey, what the…"

In his rearview, he could see a cream-colored Rolls-Royce pulling out of the first street on the right after the traffic light. Needles' truck swerved around it, barely missing it.

"I would've hit that Rolls-Royce!" he gasped.

Jennifer now knew she had a sheet of paper in her pocket. She dug it out. It had a red logo reading "Cusco" on the top. Wasn't that the name of that Japanese software firm that had recently set up shop over in Rancho Cordova? But before she could think of anything else, she beheld a sight she never would've conceived.

The text of the paper, which seemed to consist of the words "YOU'RE FIRED!" in large block letters, suddenly _vanished_, as if it had been written in disappearing ink.

"It's erased!" she breathed.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

3:09 PM, Japanese Standard Time

Mitakihara, Tokyo Metropolis, Japan

"…in other news, seismologists at the Geological Survey of Japan stated today that, quote, 'tremendous pressures seem to be building' in the Japan Trench in the Pacific Ocean off Sendai. One seismologist, who asked to remain unnamed for this report, stated that an earthquake may be due as powerful, if not even more so, than the 2004 Indonesian earthquake…"

"Oh, they've been saying that for years. Probably because of all the money they get from the insurance lobby," muttered Mariko Tomoe as she turned off her car radio, zooming along the expressway despite the beating rain.

"Y-you really don't think so, Okaa-san?" asked her daughter Mami, seated in the back seat behind her parents. "I mean, my history teacher tells me we should always hope for the best, but prepare for the worst."

"Ahh, earthquakes are overrated," Mariko said. Indeed, Japan had learned its lesson from the 1995 catastrophe in Kobe and rebuilt to the strictest seismic standards imaginable. Anything less than a 7 on the Richter Scale was small potatoes. Right now, what was more worrisome to her was her only daughter's isolation and loneliness. Perhaps that was to be expected for the child of a wealthy family. Unfortunately, too many people seemed to think that rich children were just spoiled brats who didn't need friends due to their assets. They could supposedly buy happiness for themselves, and not have to worry one damn minute about loneliness or self-worth. But she had seen the tear stains on her daughter's face on the first day of every school year. From what she occasionally described, almost all her classmates seemed to think that she only wanted friends to flaunt her wealth and status.

Well, they were going to change that, this afternoon. Mami's cousin Tsumugi Kotobuki had been in a similar situation until she'd joined the light music club at her high school. Since then, she had made three close friends, and they were all planning to come over to the Kotobuki mansion today for some of their famous tea and pastries. Mami couldn't play any musical instruments like Tsumugi (and of course Mami was a year younger, and still in middle school), but they still seemed to be such good friends, and Mami always enjoyed Tsumugi's company. Perhaps they could invite her into their circle…

Mami had heard about these three other girls from Mugi many times, but was still keen to actually meet them, if just for a relaxing Sunday afternoon. Mugi had said that one of the girls was their lead singer most of the time, but, if they'd brought their instruments and were planning a little jam session or something, she wondered what they might think if she asked to step up to the plate and sing. She occasionally liked to sing in the shower, usually enka (she thought her voice wasn't too shabby for that genre), but once in a while she tried out something from AKB48 or even Western pop. Of course, this was all in the privacy of her own bathroom; she didn't know what the rest of the world would think of her attempts at singing. Maybe they'd hate it. But there was only one way to find out for sure, wasn't there? If you put your mind to it, you coul—

Suddenly the white hulk of a semi-truck filled the view through their windshield. Time suddenly seemed to slow to a crawl as the great steel mountain drew closer to the Tomoe family car while also collapsing.

"Whoa, whoa, honey!" shouted Mami's father Junichiro, seated next to his wife in the front seat. "WATCH OUUUUT!" She jammed on the brakes in response, but only succeeded in sending the car into a screeching spin on the soaked asphalt.

Mami Tomoe was certain she had started screaming, but for some reason she couldn't hear it. Later on she would still not have any recollection of the sound of her screams as her old life literally came to a crashing halt.

"One seismologist, who asked to remain unnamed for this report, stated that an earthquake may be due as powerful, if not even more so, than the 2004…"

"Oh, not another earthquake story," sighed Haruka Kamijou, switching her car radio over to the NHK's music channel. _Unplugged Afternoon_ was on now, and the host was introducing a clip from American rock star Marty McFly's recent acoustic performance in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park.

Haruka smiled. She'd been a big fan of Marty's music since high school, and had actually had a silly schoolgirl crush on him early on, as her husband Tomokazu often reminded her with some gentle ribbing. But she still admired how he remained a class act in a field dominated by self-destructive egomaniacs. He'd stayed with his wife of over 20 years, and always found time to be a part of his two kids' lives. His family and his rock and roll were the things most important to him; forget sex and drugs.

Likewise, Tomokazu had always had a romantic sense of wanderlust and had spent much of his childhood dreaming of traveling the world. Perhaps he'd been living in his fantasies a bit _too_ much, since by the time he'd started middle school his grades were suffering, and so his parents had sent him to spend a school year with his no-nonsense Type A cousin Ito in America. Indeed, he _did_ have something of an epiphany while there, but not in a way that his parents would've imagined. He and his family had been leaving for a short road trip when their car had nearly been sideswiped by a bunch of teenage yahoos in a pickup truck. Tomokazu was then gripped with a realization that death really could strike at any time, any place, and often without the barest courtesy of a warning. And he didn't want to go to his grave without at least leaving some mark on the world; some reason to justify his presence on Earth.

But he never lost sight of his capricious wanderlust, and channeled his energies into that field. Now he was one of the main writers for the popular _Ru Ru Bu_ series of travel guidebooks. And while he spent much time bent over his computer working on articles, as well as much time on trips gathering research, he still also made time for his wife and son. Often he took the two of them on his trips to various exotic locations, and of course was able to write off his own fares as business expenses, while his wife and son got discounts from the various tour and booking agencies. As far as living and business arrangements went with this, one could certainly do much worse.

Tomokazu Kamijou may have made the effort to reach out to his son. Unfortunately his son didn't make much of an effort to reach out to him, or to his mother for that matter. Or many other people besides his violin instructor.

Haruka glanced to her left at her son Kyosuke, seated bolt upright, violin case in his lap, eyes fixed on the rainy expressway stretching before them. If only she could get him to lighten up in his intense devotion to his music and stop to smell the roses once in a while. Perhaps Tomokazu's story of near death when he was younger than Kyosuke was now had affected him even more strongly, and convinced him to make his mark on the world soon as possible. Or perhaps the Type A genes that certainly seemed to be present in Tomokazu's family had skipped a generation (they certainly seemed to have manifested in his Tomokazu's cousin Ito, still managing the American division of their software firm with an iron fist).

Either way, the boy's single-minded determination was to eventually study at a European conservatory, and someday to play for the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra, or perhaps even the London Symphony Orchestra. Now that he was in his final year of middle school, his next goal was to get into Ryooh High School. It was quite far from home (out in Saitama Prefecture; he'd probably have to change trains commuting there), but it had one of the best-accredited music programs in the Kanto Region, and that was what mattered.

Of course, then he wouldn't be able to see his two "lady friends" since elementary school Madoka and Sayaka (he insisted on that term; _never_ "girlfriend") as often. The last time they'd come over for a study session, Haruka hadn't heard him once mention his plans to attend such a faraway high school.

And he never seemed to notice the deep, dreamy-eyed way Sayaka had been looking at him lately. Or the deep redness and blissful smiles that spread across her face while watching him practice in their living room. The image made Haruka think of Schroeder from _Peanuts_ bent over his toy piano trying to become the next Beethoven, with Sayaka playing the role of fawning fangirl Lucy. Ordinarily that comparison would make her smile and coo, but they were both 14. The poor girl's hormones were lighting up like road flares; surely he could look up from his music books once in a while and notice what was going on around him. Maybe she should've gotten him tested for Asperger's syndrome when he was little.

Haruka couldn't force Kyosuke to love Sayaka (she had no idea whether he also held any feelings for her), but she was a nice girl; she didn't want her to get hurt. The least he could do was tell her about his high school plans.

"Say Okaa-san," he said; the first words he'd spoken to her since they got in the car to drive to his violin lesson. "Could you please turn the radio to the classical station?"

"Oh, okay dear," she replied. Which frequency was it again? She didn't listen to classical music all that much, so she started manually fiddling with the radio dial, trying to find the station without letting her eyes leave the road.

The normal hideous screech of rubber over asphalt was muffled somewhat by the slick surface of rainwater, but that last element of course only served to set things in motion.

The Kamijous' car drifted slightly to the left on a curve, falling halfway into a deep puddle on the lane boundary. It hydroplaned, and went into a spin.

A truck driver in that lane to the rest of them noticed their car spinning out of control and swerved to his left to avoid them, overcorrecting and sending his semi-truck into a jackknife. The Tomoes' car was in the lane to the truck's left, but had nowhere else to go.

Less than 30 seconds had passed before the Kamijous' car was upended against the center divider, its horn blaring out a continuous single note like an injured animal, and the Tomoes' car sat partially crushed beneath the toppled trailer like an egg.

Despite the pelting rain, the white, catlike creature sat perched atop an overhead sign gantry, surveying the scene like a vulture. And just as vultures are led to their meals by the smell of rotting flesh, the creature had followed the hot, pulsating energy emanating from the blonde girl's soul, as well as the tugs and strains at the structure of space-time itself. Much like how all Magical Girls were doomed to suffer a curse equal to the weight of their wish, if one incident such as a car accident were removed from the space-time continuum, another would have to occur at some point later. Many humans liked to compare life to a chessboard, with two sides continually trying to fill in the spaces left by the other until they managed to dominate the field. From what the Incubators knew about time travel and the nature of space-time, they preferred to believe the chessboard extended into the third dimension and beyond. One move in one section would cause another section to physically shift.

_You really should be more careful in the future_, Kyubey thought, as it jumped down from the gantry and daintily bounced off the roofs of cars slowing down to avoid the mess, making its way toward the Tomoes' car.

"…mijou-kun! Kamijou-kun! Are you all right?"

The world swam back into focus before Kyosuke's eyes. Memories flowed steadily back into his head, like a computer booting up. The centrifugal force of spinning, which one would pay good money for at an amusement park but only spelled pure terror when in a car on a rainy drive. Then the sickening crunch of metal against concrete, the smash of glass…and then darkness. But at least he could remember what had happened, so fortunately his brain wasn't damaged.

The blur of colors in front of him coalesced into the familiar form of Sayaka Miki. "Oh Kamijou-kun, thank God you're okay!" she sobbed, reaching out to hug him around the shoulders.

"Th-thanks, Miki-san," he croaked. Already the pain was following the rest of his senses back into consciousness. It seemed to be almost all over his body; that accident must have been horrendous. Even so, now that he would have to be in the hospital for who knew how long, it would be nice to have a regular visitor. Even if it were the increasingly clingy Sayaka.

He reached out to respond to Sayaka's hug but found he could only feebly lift his left arm toward her. He then glanced to his right.

His right arm was in a full cast, encased in an ugly steel box framework attached to his bed. At each corner of the box, steel pegs extended directly into the cast.

He couldn't move it one bit.

_You've probably guessed the main "alternate" (e.g., non _BTTF _or _PMMM_) reference in this chapter, but there was also one for_ Hidamari Sketch_. Here's a hint; Miyako in _Hidamari_ is played by the same lady as Mami (Kaori Mizuhashi)._


	3. Chapter 3

_Saturday, November 5, 1955_

_6:13 PM, Pacific Standard Time_

_Hill Valley, California_

Dr. Emmett Brown really should have been working on his brain wave-reading device at the moment (America's taxpayers were ultimately footing his salary, after all, and J. Edgar Hoover and those headcases in the CIA were not exactly people you wanted to make impatient), but his real magnum opus had been dogging him like mad for the past week. Oh, who was he kidding—his Big Idea had been at the forefront of his mind long before receiving his Ph.D (Physics, MIT, Class of '42), long before MIT or even Stanford, but ever since he was a wide-eyed little boy, devouring Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. Even though the Great White Father in Washington was sending him quite generous paychecks every month (admittedly for some…questionable assignments), and he'd gotten a very nice mansion as well as a plush Packard touring car out of the arrangement, Dr. Brown's Big Idea had been his _real_ project all these years; the focus of endless nights bent over physics books, scratching out, erasing, and starting over on countless formulas and equations on the blackboard in his lab.

And now, now, after all these years…it seemed he was _right on the brink of it._

But there was just one last piece to the puzzle that seemed to be eluding him.

Occasionally the thoughts (and speculation) of the sources of all his gains (including his funds for the research into his Big Idea), gave him some pause. Such as why he had never received a visit from the nice men of the House of Un-American Activities Commission, while several of his less "connected" former colleagues at MIT and Stanford had been grilled like hamburgers. Or all the scientists he occasionally met with in Washington with Germanic names. Ordinarily this would be no problem at all (his own parents had originally come to this country under the name Von Braun); the fact that they had arrived only a few years after the war, and always brusquely refused to discuss their previous lives back in Deutschland, gave him some pause. Occasionally Dr. Brown wondered what his longtime hero, the dearly departed Albert Einstein, might think of his current work.

But the work was his bread and butter now, and as mentioned, Hoover and the "spooks" were not people you wanted dissatisfied with you.

When thoughts like those entered his head, Dr. Brown did what he also did when trying to find one of the missing puzzle pieces to his Big Idea; busying himself with some housework.

He was now standing on his toilet, reaching for a clock on the bathroom wall (_a clock—ah, how portentous)_ which had been stopped for some time.

_Dr. Broooowwwwn…_a high, thin voice suddenly piped into his head, somewhat louder than his thoughts.

At the sudden auditory intrusion, Dr. Brown gasped and slipped on the lowered toilet lid.

He did indeed see stars before his eyes as his head came in contact with the commode, or at least bright white flashes of light which exploded across his field of vision, then faded to yellow, then purple, then black. But before they faded away entirely and the world returned (plus a throbbing headache), something else appeared before his eyes.

A glass-fronted triangle, with three clear tubes inside converging into a Y shape. Small particles of light darted through the three tubes.

_Could _this _be what you're looking for, Dr. Brown?_

Of course. This was it! It had been a not-quite-tangible mystery just a few minutes ago, but now it seemed so obvious!

Only this triangular design would permit the proper dispersal of the flux particles and _make time travel possible._

Of course, now he needed a proper housing for the design, but now that he actually had the image in mind for the flux capacitor, he was about a third of the way along to realizing his Big Idea. Not wanting to lose the image, he jumped up to jot to sketch it on the first piece of scratch paper he came across.

Newton had had his apple, Aristotle had had his bath, and now Dr. Emmett Brown had had his toilet. (Well, he probably wouldn't tell the folks at _Popular Mechanics _or _Scientific American_ that; you couldn't even show a man and woman in the same bed at the same time in the movies in this country.)

Then again, it might be best to not tell them anything. He had just made perhaps the greatest scientific breakthrough imaginable. Who knew what could happen if…actual _time travel_ fell into the wrong hands?

He shivered. Frankly, he wasn't even sure if he wanted his bosses to know about it.

-O-O-O-

Kyubey knew of no such thing as "happiness" or "satisfaction", but it did still have a sense that it had succeeded in a great breakthrough. The Incubators could not form contracts with human males (it didn't know why, but that didn't seem important); however, it could still form telepathic links with them.

And if even a male were trying to grasp for a certain ideal, a certain wish, they could still give him a little…"boost".

Just before leaving Dr. Brown's mansion, Kyubey had "heard" him having second thoughts about informing others, and the ramifications of time travel falling into the wrong hands. It was a good question indeed. Just a decade had passed since humanity had nearly destroyed itself in a worldwide war, only ended by the use of atom-driven weapons which could literally destroy all life on this planet several times over. And at this point, this very nation and another nation, which had been its ally in that previous war, were now engaged in a near-war situation, with those atomic weapons ready for use at a moment's notice.

Yes, given what it knew about human nature, the power of time travel falling into the wrong hands could create quite a bit of despair.

And more often than not, despair led anxious young girls to make contracts. Look how many contracts had been made during that last war, and the one before that, and the one before that…and so on.

Even among the Incubators, however, some concern had been raised about this plan. Agent No. THX-1138 had voiced its belief that the inevitable creation of Witches already placed enough strain on the boundary between the mortal and spiritual realms, as their wretched existence was spent in a sort of living death. Would not time travel strain and warp the fabric of space-time in tandem, and if so, was there not a possibility that both strains might tear apart the very fabric of the universe? And here they were trying to _save_ it from heat death…

But that was just an unproven theory. If it _were_ true, then why wouldn't the universe have torn itself to shreds after the Incubators' first billion years at this job? THX-1138 was placed under observation for possible mental illness.

Also, if it were true, just as there were other inhabited planets, there were other universes.

Right?

-O-O-O-

"1638…1640…What the…?" Marty McFly stood agape at the sprawling manse at 1640 Riverside Drive. _This_ had been the Doc's house? His old friend had told him about the great fire, and how the Feds had refused to pay for a new house (unfortunately, his fire insurance wasn't able to cover everything), but…wow.

Either way, all he knew at this moment was that he wanted to get back to the year 1985, and the man who might or might not be inside this palace was his only ticket.

As Marty made his way up the front walk, he didn't see the white, catlike alien pass by him in the opposite direction. But he did shiver slightly, as though a goose had just walked over his grave.

It was probably just the clammy, chilly night air. It was November now, after all.

And with all the chess pieces thus in place, neither Marty McFly, nor Dr. Emmett Brown, nor the parents of Douglas Needles, Tomokazu Kamijou, Ito Fujitsu, and Mariko Tomoe, nor even Kyubey, could know that at that point planet Earth (and possibly the rest of the universe) had exactly 55 years, five months and 25 days left.

But, as Marty McFly was about to learn (as was a certain girl named Akemi Homura, at a much later date), history could be changed.

Right?


End file.
